


Sleeping Arrangements in Case of Nightmares

by Macdicilla



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Buried Emotions, Clinginess, Gen, Older brother leaving for Uni, Sibling dynamic, They express themselves differently
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Macdicilla/pseuds/Macdicilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're going to climb into a bed, can't it be mummy's?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleeping Arrangements in Case of Nightmares

A slight rustle on the carpet, the faintest crick on the floorboard in the dark.

  
"Get out of my room." Said Mycroft.  
Sherlock cursed under his breath.

"Yes, I heard that too." Sighed Mycroft. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't hear you sneaking in?"

"Of course not, I thought you'd be asleep." Muttered Sherlock.

"Well I'm not. And you should be. Go back to bed."

He remained where he was, in the shadows by Mycroft's doorframe.

"You're not leaving." Mycroft observed. "What do you want?"

"I had a nightmare."

"And it's no more than that. Go back to your room."

"I had a nightmare." The younger brother repeated as if it were a valid argument

Mycroft realized what he meant.  
"Oh no, no no no, you're not going to crawl into my bed. You haven't done that since you were four. You're nine years old, for God's sake, you are too old for that."

Heedless, Sherlock climbed in and lay down with his back against his brother's.  
"If you're going to climb into a bed, can't it be mummy's?"

"No. She's cold. Less body fat."

Mycroft tried another tactic.  
"You know, you really can't go about life crawling into people's beds."

Sherlock snorted.

"No, but I'm serious." Continued Mycroft. "It's really considered inappropriate unless the other person—"

"Yes, I know, I'm not an idiot." He paused. "I'm never getting married." He declared.

Mycroft briefly glanced at the master bedroom door.  
"No, I'm not either. And I don't blame you."

There was a pause.  
"I'm sure I could room with someone who wouldn't mind." Mused Sherlock.

"Pardon?"

"You heard me."

"What, sneaking in next to them? Yes, well, best of luck with that." Coughed Mycroft, pulling the covers up over his shoulder.

  
"I'm going to tell you about my nightmare."

"I didn't ask."

"I'm going to tell you regardless."

Mycroft sighed. "Go on, then."

"It was about you. You were on the train on the way to university, and it crashed horribly, and I had to identify your body, but I could barely recognize you."

Mycroft was suddenly furious.  
"It's not going to work, you know."

"What won't work?" Asked Sherlock, a little too innocently.

"This selfish plot of yours. Do you think I'm not going to leave because of a fake dream you made up? Do you think I'm afraid of fictions?"

Sherlock sighed. "I didn't make it up."

"All dreams are made up, and they have no bearing on reality, Sherlock."

"I know that."

"I know you know. That's why you didn't fool me."

"But who said the details were from a dream?"

"Ah. Newspaper description of an accident, then?"

"Yes."

"Getting creative." He conceded.

They discussed a lot of things. They discussed the way glass would break from being forcibly shaken at different angles. They discussed how fast it would take for a person to bleed out depending on their body weight. They discussed the severity of non-strike concussions from recoil force, and the pliability of several sheet metals.

  
They did not once discuss the future.  
In the morning, Mycroft awoke with a small pair of arms around his middle.


End file.
